


Encounter 001

by KnightRepentant



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Detectives, Gen, Kidnapping, Missing Persons, Paranormal, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightRepentant/pseuds/KnightRepentant





	Encounter 001

Friday August 14th, 1885

 

Though the hour was late, I found myself sitting in no small discomfort onboard the evening train out of Manchester, trying in vain to read my notes by the compartment’s meagre light. Across from me, a man is slumped against the window, snoring. Loudly. The steel cap of my shoe colliding with his shin proves sufficient to quell the noise, at the cost of his waking up.

          “No, no I was just resting…!” He squinted out of the rain-speckled window at the hulking landscape beyond, “How much further is it?” I sprung my watch from its pocket and clicked it open,

          “We’re twenty minutes out of Pendle, Niccolo, have you reviewed the case notes at all?” Niccolo waved one hand briefly, telling me all I needed to know,

          “Missing persons is all it really says, Allison, I’ll hear the rest when we arrive.” Niccolo grinned, lay down along the entire seat and shut his eyes once more.

          Pendle railway station barely deserved the name. Little more than an uncovered stone platform and the smallest ticket office possible. A light drizzle was hissing upon the ground and Niccolo and I hunched our shoulders as we made our way towards the main road. A pub offered warmth and shelter, and I shook rain from my coat at the threshold and saw gladly a roaring hearth. But however much it beckoned, there were more pressing matters, and I approached the barkeep,

          “Good evening, sir, I wonder if you could direct me to the…” I glanced at my notebook, “Ashworth farmstead?” The barkeep, a thin rake of a man in a stained apron, put down his cleaning cloth,

          “Old Tim Ashworth, is it? His farm’s easy enough to find, even if the weather’s awful. You police types, then? Tim’s a decent lad, I’ll tell you now, not a wicked bone in his body.” I held up a hand,

          “Fear not, sir, I haven’t come to arrest him, only to find him. My name is Allison Hackett, a detective working with the Greater Manchester constabulary. The one practically standing in your fireplace is Niccolo Ferrera, a consultant from Florence.” The man’s blank look offered nothing in return, so I pressed on, “I believe you meant to direct me to the Ashworth farm?” The lights came back on in his eyes,

          “Oh, of course, it’s a ways along the east road, about two or three miles, you can’t miss the sign.” I nod in thanks,

          “I intend to stay here upon my return, I trust you have rooms available?” That got his attention,

          “Of course, madam, the house’s finest!” Our business concluded, I bade a most reluctant Niccolo abandon the glow of the hearth and we two bowed our heads again beneath the rain.

          The road out of town was well-used and treacherous terrain, the dry-stone wall saved my skirts many times over, but our endurance was rewarded as the oppressive rain began to ease, and the clouds to wither away. So far from Manchester and its hundreds of gas-lamps, the sky overhead was awash with stars, a million points of light spilling across the heavens, and they enraptured me so that I almost missed the signpost for the Ashworth farm. In the far distance, I could discern a single light. I did my best to make myself less like a sodden cat come crawling out of the rain on the walk towards the farmhouse, wishing dearly that I had brought my umbrella. Niccolo shook himself like a hound as his only attempt at presentability as we gained the doorstep, then rapped smartly upon the bare planks of the door.

          So long were we stood there that I was startled from a reverie when the door suddenly snapped open. In the three inch gap between door and door-frame I discerned a pale, fearful face.

          “Yes?” I tried to smile warmly,

          “Would you be Mrs. Ashworth, wife of Timothy Ashworth? My name is Allison Hackett, the Manchester constabulary sent me to investigate his disappearance.” The face did not change as the door was opened, and we were invited inside. Mrs. Ashworth collapsed stiffly into a chair, arms wrapped tightly about herself. After a minute of silent waiting, I took the chair adjacent,

          “I can’t imagine how distressing this must be, Mrs. Ashworth, but I have questions I must ask you. Exactly when did you notice your husband was missing?”

          “It were last Thursday, yes, Thursday night.” Her eyes kept darting from window to window, and her trembling only grew worse,

          “He went missing during the night? Could you guess as to what time, that night?”

          “Close to midnight. We got woke up by our old mare braying in the barn. Tim thought it could be thieves or sheep rustlers, he took his rifle so to scare ‘em off. I waited at our bedroom door…” Grief twisted her face, and through tears she stammered, “…but he never came back! I heard him yell, heard the rifle go off, then…nothing. I went to the window, but it were all as still as you see now. My babes woke up crying because of the gun, so I sat with them until morning.” At that moment, I saw behind her a young man come into the room, bearing a sullen glower,

          “You 'ere to find my dad?” I rose, offering my hand,

          “I am indeed, Allison Hackett, private detective. This is Niccolo Ferrera, a colleague of mine from Italy. Might I ask your name?”

          “John Ashworth, ma’am.”

          “A pleasure, John. I was just asking your mother to try and recall anything she could about your father’s disappearance. Is there anything you can add? Did you see or hear anything that night?” I held my pencil poised over my notebook, but John seemed to huddle in on himself, glancing warily towards his mother, and shook his head slowly. “I understand, from what your mother tells me, it all happened very fast. Now I must ask a favour of you,” I tucked my notebook away, “I should like to examine the scene, this barn where you keep your mare. It may help me learn where your father might be.” John began to nod, but his mother’s hand snapped around his wrist like a vice,

          “Don’t you go out there, Johnny!” I stepped forward,

          “Please, Mrs. Ashworth. I won’t let him come to harm, I promise. Niccolo will be in here watching the barn, we won’t be a moment.”

          The sky was completely clear now, as we made our way to the barn, not fifty feet from the house. John lit a lamp, a pool of orange amidst the hay. I cast my eyes around, scouring every surface, peering into every shadow,

          “Is it just the mare you keep in here, then?” John nodded sharply,

          “Aye, and she were making more noise than I thought a horse could.” I moved past the stalls to the centre of the barn, and stopped abruptly,

          “Do you smell…eggs?” The lad sniffed the air and grimaced,

          “Rotten ones.” I bade him cast the lamp around, trying to see if any patterns lingered in the straw, but the mare had trampled it thoroughly. My spirits fell,

          “That seems to be the only oddity I can find.” John let the lamp fall, his face despondent, “your mother was right about one thing, however, there is gunpowder residue here. Your father did fire his rifle, but at _what?_ He obviously missed for I see no blood anywhere, there are no signs of a struggle so I surmise the shot scared away any intruders.” I turned to John, “It’s like he won the contest before simply walking off into the night. I’ll have to return in the morning and do a wider search of the farm…”

          “He didn’t walk off!” John was scowling hard at the floor, his free hand tightly clenched in a fist. I frowned for a moment, then realisation dawned,

          “ _You saw something_. What did you see?! Why did you not say so before?”

          “I didn’t want to scare my mum! And…I was scared myself! They took him!” Ice filled my stomach and I seized his wrist,

          “What?! He was taken? Taken by whom?! Tell me anything you remember!” But John began shaking his head, tears lighting the corners of his eyes,

          “I couldn’t see…I didn’t _want_ to see! They…they were so quick. They headed for the barn, the mare was screaming so loud!” The young man collapsed to the hay, clawing at his hair and face, “Dad! Dad’s in there!” Before my eyes, John’s face contorted into a mask of terror, and he seemed not to see me as he spoke in a trembling whisper, “ _One of them's outside the window_. No, no, no, _I don’t want to see!_ ” I pulled his hands away and stared into those fear-wide eyes,

          “John! Johnny, you’re safe! It’s just me, you’re safe!” Those eyes seemed to see me again, and the tears began flowing freely as the boy clasped me tight.

          “They took him,” he gasped, “ _They took him_.”

          “Where, John? I won’t ask any more of you if you tell me, I promise.” I felt his arm move and followed his pointing finger out of the barn doors. The great black expanse of the forest loomed tall and deep. I stared hard, but saw nothing. _What on Earth could he mean_ _?_ “Let's return to the house, I feel a mug of hot tea is in order.”

          I left John shaking on a stool with a hot mug of tea, before beckoning to Niccolo. The Italian's face was pale,

          "What happened, Allison? Did you find anything?" It took a few breaths before my voice felt steady enough to avoid embarrassment,

          "Nothing of note beyond a terrible odour. But the boy...he spoke as though he were watching it over again, said someone took his father into the woods. I'd never thought to see fear like that on a face."

          "Kidnapping? Why would anyone want to kidnap a simple farmer?" I glanced out a window at the endless trees,

          "A question for the morning, I think."


End file.
